ooc:
Once there was a female who called herself docile and kind. She was raised by a loving group that called themselves the Nomads and taught her how to respect and cherish life. But among the multitude of faces, of the separate families that made its whole, she was made to flourish among a sect called the Exultare, fierce warriors of impressive stature that held both strength and honor in high regard. And each day, she was taught the importance of their family, of family as a whole. What it meant to care for the other and ensure their well-being… and of course, what it meant if their actions ever invoked harm. This woman learned through painful experience that the actions of one could affect a family, its members, its structure, its safety. And she felt the consequences of those actions, and watched others as they were punished as well. But from the pain, from the hurt, she saw the result, the changes that took place for bringing a wrong to light and she learned to be glad for it… even though it left a scar upon both body and heart.
And what this woman learned from those experiences as a youth, she carried with her as she travelled now to witness the correction of a wrong done by kin. She walked alongside the silver coated female with heavy paws falling soundly in place of the words that were not spoken. And beside her golden stature walked the Yakuso of Ichika, brooding in silence. The Nomad knew the lady was not pleased with her decision to punish the boy familiar to her, but her decision was made not in earnest but in great thought. She recalled upon her own actions and felt the change that transpired by her reprimand. She needed vocalize her defense for her actions to know in her heart that it was for the best. She needed voice it to anyone but would rather let the actions speak for themselves. The woman was content to play the villain if it meant the ‘hero’ would learn something from this.
Her walk into the Dawn lands lacked the pomp of a ranked wolf or its air. Though her form was marked impressive by its height, she display no more than her had to make her presences acknowledgeable. The circumstance deemed her to be a spectator and nothing more, to ensure the punishment was carried out as specified. Her eyes were placid pools of liquid amber as they greeting the emerald sights of the Alpha briefly, then fell upon the convicted under paw. Her posture was not stiff, but relaxed even as the boy was harshly kicked in reprimand and venomous words were spouted in his direction. They were not in hate, but in disappointment, an emotion she could not refute.
Her eyes turned to the gathering wolves to assess their reaction to the boy’s exile. Their personal feelings were unaccounted by her as she searched for a more valuable glimmer in their eyes; understanding. Would they understand why the boy was being punished? Or would they look at this as nothing more than an undeserved persecution of their Omega?